


A Christmas Story

by mogwai_do



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Angst, Bad Fic, Christmas, Humor, M/M, Meta, Porn, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-05
Updated: 2013-01-05
Packaged: 2017-11-23 19:11:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/625602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mogwai_do/pseuds/mogwai_do
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So I don’t know how to describe this. I guess it depends which bit you’re reading, so we’ll start with angst and romance and fluff, move on to sap and porn and angst and then finish off with humour and perhaps a touch of meta…</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Joe Dawson watched the bar fill with the Christmas crowd. Maurice was away with family for the holidays and he had left the place in the capable hands of his business partner. Joe hadn't intended to have a Christmas party this year, after everything that had happened, but then it had occurred to him that perhaps that made it the best time to celebrate. They all needed something to take their minds off their troubles. The Highlander was still coming to terms with his actions under the influence of the Dark Quickening, Adam was mourning Alexa, and Joe himself was becoming increasingly uneasy about things within the Watchers. If they couldn't forget about it all on Christmas Eve then the New Year promised to be a gloomy one.

So the tree was up and decorated; multicoloured tinsel hung from every conceivable, and a few inconceivable, places; holly kept turning up in uncomfortable spots and the Christmas spirits were flowing freely. It wasn't that busy, a few new faces had joined the crowd and perhaps half the regular customers were in, some with dates, some alone. Two of his most frequent customers were demanding his attention right now - not through anything they were doing, but by all the things they weren't.

Mac and Adam were sharing a table and a bottle of good whiskey, but their table was an island amongst the mortals. It radiated none of the cheerful bustle or drunken good humour of the rest of the bar; it was subdued, each man isolating himself from his surroundings and even his tablemate, they spoke now and then but never for long. It didn't seem to be adversely affecting the atmosphere in the rest of the bar, but it caught at Joe. He had been thinking primarily of the pair when he had decided to go ahead with the party and he wasn't prepared to let them put all his effort to waste.

"Hey guys," Joe seated himself at their table without bothering to wait for an invitation.

"Joe," Mac greeted. Adam merely nodded his welcome.

"What do you think?" Joe gestured to the party in full swing.

"Very nice, Joe," Adam's tone had just a hint of tease to it. "Historically inaccurate, but very nice."

"Well, for your information I wasn't trying to be historically accurate," Joe let himself be baited. "What's so inaccurate about it anyway?"

Adam smirked, "Wrong date," he pronounced with all the authority of one who knew first hand. Then he sprawled further into his chair in a clear sign that he wasn't going to elaborate.

Joe sighed and rolled his eyes before turning to Mac. "Don't you just hate it when he does that."

Mac offered a ghost of a smile in response, but didn't say a word. Joe raised an eyebrow at the uncharacteristic response and turned to Adam. Nodding a head at Mac he asked, "What's with sunshine here?"

Adam smiled almost sympathetically, "Oh, he's just down because he doesn't have some pretty young thing to hang on his arm." It lacked Adam’s usual derisive tone, but Joe had got used to that over the last few weeks.

Distracted by the Highlander's unusual behaviour, Joe spoke without thinking. "What about you, old man? No pretty young thing for you?"

Adam’s smile didn't falter and his voice was the perfect imitation of mock-disgust, "What? With the Highlander here to steal the limelight? I wouldn't stand a chance, Joe." 

The words were right, the expression was right, but the eyes were all wrong. The deep, dark green was shadowed with far too many sorrows for so young a face. For a moment Joe was torn between wanting to weep at what he saw and kicking himself for bringing it out. Fortunately he was saved from doing either when Adam turned away from them both, uncomfortably aware of what he had inadvertently revealed, and Joe caught sight of the expression on the Highlander's face.

Mac had never been the most able when it came to hiding his feelings and right now what was written on his face made Joe wonder if he hadn’t been wrong all along about what had been troubling Mac lately. Whatever was causing this brood was ongoing, not the months-past Dark Quickening.

Joe made a show of consulting his watch, "Well guys, time for my set. Enjoy yourselves." He needed time to think about this.

Joe played the set mechanically though no less well for all that, but he couldn't stop his eyes from straying to his friends' table. At least they appeared to be enjoying the music, Adam certainly was at any rate. Mac, on the other hand, seemed to be dividing his attention between the stage and his friend whenever it appeared that Adam wasn't looking. Like any good Watcher, Joe observed and mentally noted the Highlander's rather odd behaviour, unlike any good Watcher though, he drew conclusions and decided on a course of action.

*****

When the set ended, Joe was needed back at the bar and as he poured yet another drink he couldn't help but think that, even though he would be making a tidy profit this evening, it wouldn't have been worth the effort if he couldn't at least do something to help his friends. So when Mac came to the bar for a fresh bottle, Joe enlisted his aid in fetching a box from the storeroom and in the privacy it granted, he decided to take a chance.

"So Mac, are you going to tell him?"

"Joe!" Mac almost dropped the box he was moving in shock - shock, but not surprise.

Joe watched amused as Mac replaced the box with exaggerated care and then proceeded to sit on it. He looked rather guiltily at Joe and then at his hands, surprisingly unsurprised that Joe had worked it out. Either his estimation of Joe's observational skills was higher than the Watcher expected or the Highlander was just grateful to finally have _someone_ to talk to about it.

"Well?" Joe prompted.

"I can't Joe, I mean he's... he's _Methos_ , Joe."

As arguments went Joe had seen more coherent examples, "So?"

Mac sighed and began to study his hands in detail.

"I mean, pardon me, but I fail to see the problem here, Mac," Joe needed a good reason before he'd be persuaded to let this one go and Mac's uncharacteristic uncertainty had to have a reason. A thought occurred, "It's not the gender thing is it?"

Mac looked surprised, "No. I mean it's been a long time, but... No, it's not that. Maybe... I don't know. It's just... he's *Methos*."

Joe shook his head, "I know he's Methos, Mac, even if it is one of the better kept secrets in the world. I still don't see what it is that's stopping you."

Mac sighed and looked away for a long minute, when he finally met Joe's eyes he appeared to have resolved something. "Joe," he began seriously. "Immortals don't have many myths and legends of our own - we know where too many of yours come from. Of the few we do have, who do you think features prominently in most of them? Most Immortals I've met think Methos is the creation of an Immortal who got bored one day and decided to create a little history for us. Some of us believe Methos actually did exist once upon a time, but died millennia ago. How many of us do you think know that not only did he exist once upon a time, but that he still does? Never mind that he prefers pizza to pasta and has a bad habit of putting his feet on the furniture?" Mac paused and consciously brought his voice back down to a more conversational tone. "More than 5,000 years of history, Joe – he’s seen and done so much, been so many things - _why_ would he be interested in me?"

"What makes you think he wouldn't be interested?" Joe argued. "I mean, no disrespect to the dead, but why did he fall for Alexa? You and I both know she was neither especially pretty nor especially bright. She didn't have money or contacts, Hell, she didn't even have her health, but none of that mattered one bit to him. You must have seen that."

Mac's silent nod made Joe pause as another thought struck him. "Just how long have you been sitting on this, Mac?"

Mac shifted uncomfortably and picked up a napkin from a nearby box. "Since I met him I think."

"You think?"

"Well, I liked him immediately - trusted him - it never even occurred to me that he might want _my_ head. Then when he turned up because of Kristen and stayed at the loft it was just easy having him around. And then Alexa came along and... I realised why I'd always been so comfortable with him... and I couldn't say anything because he loved her." He sighed sadly, "She had so little time, Joe - I could afford to wait - she couldn't."

Joe felt a pang of sorrow; he had liked Alexa and the old man had certainly fallen hard and fast for her. Mac being Mac couldn't have acted any other way given the situation - it simply wasn't in his nature. But now that Alexa was gone…

"How selfish is it Joe? To move in when Alexa's only been gone a month? To want him to get over her quickly so I have a better chance of making him happy," Mac asked miserably.

Joe shook his head, "Mac, if you're looking for permission from a ghost - I hate to tell you this, but you're going to be a long time waiting." Mac just looked more miserable and Joe tried again. "Look at it this way, Mac. If you were Alexa would you want Methos to be miserable or would you want him to have a chance at happiness again?"

Mac put aside the napkin he had been patiently shredding, "But that's just it, Joe - what if I can't make him happy? What if I try and he isn't interested? What if I offend him? I can't lose him completely, Joe. He's so cautious about everything and if he thinks you're prying he shuts up tight and leaves. I'd rather keep his friendship than gamble and lose it all."

Joe was starting to get exasperated now. "Well for a start I don't think it's that faint a possibility. But do you really think the man who's survived 5,000 years is so fragile that the thought of a friend caring a bit more deeply for him is going to scare him away forever? Given how long he's lived I very much doubt he'll go all Victorian on you if you make a pass at him and I don't think he'd let it wreck the friendship. You said it yourself Mac, there was a connection between the two of you from the moment you met - a trust - and you know how rare that is, even among people who don't have to fear for their heads on a daily basis. You may have failed to notice it, but the man doesn't seem to have that many friends; he's not going to throw them away over something like this."

Mac looked like he sincerely wanted to believe, "I don't know, Joe."

"Well I do," Joe said shortly, giving up on reasoned argument. "Have a little faith in my powers of perception - I have known him longer than you after all."

Mac took a deep breath and forced a smile, "Okay."

Joe smiled as the Highlander picked up the box they'd come in for and headed out into the bar, even with a pep talk from his Watcher he was betting Mac would be having a good few shots of Scottish courage before he had that talk with the old Immortal. Now all Joe had to worry about was that he was right in his own assessment of the Ancient.

*****

The night wore on pleasantly enough and while Mac had plenty of Scottish courage, he still seemed no closer to talking to Methos, and the unexpected arrival of Richie was a mixed blessing. Joe was glad to see the young Immortal had forgiven Mac his actions under the influence of the Dark Quickening. It was obvious too that Mac was glad to see his almost-son and the mood around the table lightened considerably as Richie told tales of his travels. But it bothered Joe that with Richie present the chances of Mac having that talk with the old man were drastically reduced. Still, the alcohol was flowing freely and the mood had improved so maybe the evening wasn't a total loss.

At the moment, Richie, being just a tad drunk, was helpfully offering Adam tips on picking up women and Mac, who probably wasn’t quite as sober as he thought, was doing his best to mitigate it. Adam, who was as sober as the other two weren't, was taking it all in good humour, though Joe was sure there was an undercurrent of sadness to the old man's tone that wasn't just his imagination.

"Is that a sword in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?" Richie giggled drunkenly.

"Dinner and dancing," Mac corrected unequivocally, ignoring Richie's bad jokes as best he could.

"What's wrong with pizza and a movie?" Adam protested, comfortably into his bookworm, grad student persona by now.

"Nothing, nothing," said Mac in a tone that suggested the exact opposite. "It's just no guarantee."

Adam shook his head, "And dinner and dancing is?"

"Of course, no woman can resist - even if they're not romantic the thought that you are is enough to get them lining up." Mac announced confidently and Joe wondered if his friend had any idea how many women were actually within earshot. It didn’t speak well of his survival instinct that he didn’t seem to have noticed how many daggers were being looked at his back. "Try it sometime Adam, you'd be amazed."

Adam's expression told Joe he *was* aware of how many women were listening in, "No thanks, Mac, I think I'll give it a miss."

Mac shook his head in dismay and seemed about to try to further persuade Adam when Richie suddenly interrupted. "He can't dance!" Richie howled, laughing so hard he was in danger of sliding right off his chair.

Joe looked at the gleeful Immortal and shook his head, maybe he ought to avoid serving Richie whiskey in future. Mac and Adam looked equally bemused as to where that particular outburst had sprung from, but when Adam didn't deign to deny the statement Mac latched onto it too. Joe watched in amusement as Mac leaned drunkenly over the table and patted the old Immortal's arm sympathetically.

"It's alright, Adam, it's nothing to be ashamed of." 

Joe was beginning to think he should keep the Highlander clear of the good stuff too.

"Anyway, I can teach you," Mac announced confidently and without waiting for a reply, he dragged the startled oldest Immortal out of his chair and propelled him towards the dance floor.

Joe watched amazed as 200 pounds of drunken Highlander began to instruct the rather bemused eldest Immortal in all seriousness. He could practically hear the old man deciding to put up with this lunacy, just for the pleasure of reminding Mac of it tomorrow and probably for many days to come, so he could watch the Highlander cringe in embarrassment. Joe had to admit that he had no plans to be the voice of reason either, it was far too entertaining, and besides, they looked surprisingly good together.

*****

Duncan manoeuvred the unresisting older man away from the tables and positioned him with exaggerated care then he picked up the tune and began to guide his increasingly amused partner around the dance floor. Several turns later though, the awareness began to creep up on Duncan that he had actually stopped guiding almost as soon as he had begun to move. Duncan abruptly sobered with the sort of sickening speed that only a combination of Immortal healing and sheer panic could accomplish.

He was dancing with _Methos!_ What was he _thinking!?!_

The remnants of the drunken fog evaporated and with it went the assumptions Duncan had made. Methos was actually a very good dancer, graceful, and next to his slender build the Highlander felt like a clumsy oaf. With an impressive display of willpower Duncan forced his mind away from its panic and concentrated on not tripping over his own feet. A minute or two later he had calmed enough to be out of danger of falling on his ass in front of everyone and he began to relax again. If Methos had noticed the way he had tensed up, he gave no sign, for which Duncan was absurdly grateful.

Duncan's calm didn't last long though, since he was no longer focused on his own movements his attention naturally drifted to those of his partner and it didn't help that his partner was the object of more than a few of Duncan's fantasies. He was terribly aware of the space between his body and the slender form opposite, matching him step for step. He didn't dare look at Methos' face, but he was having severe difficulty finding a neutral spot on which to focus. His hands itched to shift their carefully impersonal grip on Methos' narrow waist. He wanted to pull the ancient Immortal closer and eliminate that small safe space between them, to feel Methos pressed tight against him, preferably without clothing. He wanted to let his hands wander and give them free reign to explore that strong body and seek out all its secrets.

It was an unbearably sweet torment to have Methos so close and not be able to draw him closer. And what would Methos do if he did give into that urge? Run? Brush it off? Welcome it? Duncan was too much the coward to take the chance and find out. Still, if he did nothing, or even if he succumbed to temptation and ruined everything, at least he would have had this - Methos in his arms - and that alone would fuel his fantasies for years to come.

Duncan had wanted to do this after Alexa had died, not for himself, but for his friend. He had wanted to offer the comfort and the warmth of physical contact, but there had been some intangible barrier stopping him. Methos hadn't left town, or even avoided him, but there had been a sense of his being unapproachable. Methos had shut the world out and done his grieving alone, as he had probably done hundreds of times before. Over the month since Alexa's death, those barriers had slowly lowered, but the air of wounded sorrow that Methos carried with him had remained virtually undiminished.

Did Duncan have the right to change that? He didn't know; he just knew he wanted desperately to try, but even with Joe's encouragement, he couldn't quite bring himself to take that step. So the careful distance, both physical and emotional, remained and painful as it was, it was somehow less painful than the thought of reaching out to the old Immortal only to be turned away.

*****

Finally the song began to wind down and Duncan found himself loath to end the perfect torment he had created for himself, but he was determined not to try to hold onto Methos any longer than friendship would allow. One dance, especially given the circumstances of its beginning, could be laughed off, explained away as drunkenness; to ask for another now though would reveal a deeper intent. He could be satisfied with this, even if it were all he would ever have.

So when the song ended and Methos moved to resume his seat at the table, it was as much of a surprise to Duncan as it was to his friend when his hand closed around Methos' wrist and stopped him. Duncan swallowed anxiously, horrified that he had betrayed himself so, but knowing that he was now committed, he had no option but to take the plunge.

Given the amount of experience he had at romancing, his store of courage was pitifully small when it came to dealing with this one man. "Adam," Duncan was dismayed by the hoarseness of his voice. It wasn't the name he wanted to use either, but in such a public place he had no other option. "Dance with me?" How different it was to ask instead of just drunkenly demanding.

Methos regarded the Highlander through narrowed eyes, his expression unreadable, but he didn't pull his hand free. Daringly, Duncan took the few steps needed to bring them face to face again; his throat felt constricted, he'd said everything he knew to say, nothing more would affect Methos' decision.

Duncan almost breathed a sigh of relief when that piercing gaze shifted from his face to the hand trapping Methos' slender wrist - tanned skin against pale. Reluctantly Duncan loosened his grip, regretting now that he'd pushed as far as he had, however unintentional it had been. Especially since that touch, with its lingering warmth, was in all likelihood the last he would be allowed for a very long time.

The weight of Methos' hands as they came to rest on Duncan's shoulders nearly made him flinch, which he realised belatedly would have been a very bad idea. Methos' expression was still unreadable when Duncan ventured to look, but his hands moved to rest at Methos' waist almost of their own volition and when they began to move together it seemed the most natural thing in the world.

Duncan barely heard the band, his brain seemed to have fused solid, but his body seemed to know exactly what it was doing as it moved with the music and the far more compelling shift and sway of his partner's body. Then all at once his mental faculties came back online, multi-tasking busily in case this was a once-in-a-lifetime, never-to-be-repeated flight of fantasy.

Methos was close - so close. Not as close as Duncan would have liked, but more than close enough to have his body reacting predictably. The occasional brush of their bodies as they moved was tantalising, slow and so very sensual. Duncan couldn't help but wonder if Methos was actually aware of the casual grace he possessed. He supposed after 5,000 years he must be, but Duncan still believed the display was unconscious.

Duncan found himself looking into Methos' face, hoping to see his friend's thoughts there - he had to know what Duncan's request meant - he wasn't blind or stupid by any stretch of the imagination. But Methos' eyes were closed, long lashes shadowing the pale skin, making the World's Oldest Immortal seem ridiculously young. The hint of a smile played on his lips, but with Methos that could mean anything. Only the faint dark smudges beneath his eyes revealed the effect of his most recent loss and even they failed to mar the beauty Duncan saw in his friend.

"Methos?" Duncan kept his voice so low he was almost surprised when Methos heard it. Dark eyes flecked with gold opened to meet his own and Duncan could feel their gaze gently strip him bare, seeing everything he had been hiding in his heart since the day they first met. He tried to steel himself against the prospect of imminent rejection, but felt something hot and bright unfurl inside him when instead of letting go, the arms resting on his shoulders tightened, long fingers brushing the nape of his neck and sliding into his hair. The smile on Methos' lips deepened at Duncan's reaction and with the next pulse of the music Methos shifted closer to Duncan.

Duncan felt his knees threaten to give way, though whether in relief or because of the incredible heat of Methos' body, he couldn't say. Warm breath teased his skin as Methos leaned in closer still, "Dance with me, Duncan."

The whispered request sent shivers down Duncan's spine and the rare use of his given name caused a warmth to bloom deep in his chest; the slight erection he'd been fighting since they had first begun to dance suddenly wasn't so slight anymore. With Methos pressed so close it was laughably difficult to remember what was and wasn't acceptable behaviour in a public place. The tip of a tongue slipped out to moisten dry lips and Duncan caught himself on the verge of following it back into the inviting haven of Methos' mouth. A little voice warned him that a kiss was probably a bit further than he wanted to go in public, since he knew he'd never be able to stop with just that. But he bowed to his baser instincts and let his hands slide around Methos' waist and slip lower to cup his ass, pulling him just that fraction closer. Methos' gentle smile altered imperceptibly and now it was doing dangerous things to Duncan's sense of balance, not to mention propriety. God, at this rate he'd never make it to the end of the song, never mind getting home.

*****

Joe leaned back in his chair and raised his glass to the oblivious pair of Immortals on the dance floor. He heard Richie put his own glass on the table and didn't need to look to know he was watching the same thing as Joe himself.

"I hope it works," Richie said as he turned to Joe, blue eyes surprisingly sober.

Joe smiled an indulgent bluesman's smile, "Oh I think it will - if not for Alexa I think it would have happened months ago."

Richie smiled in agreement. Yeah. When Adam had first turned up because of Kristen he'd noticed the change in Mac. The Highlander had been happier than he'd been at any other time since Tessa's death, more comfortable, as though some unacknowledged tension had eased. Richie felt a momentary pang for the loss, but he knew Tessa would have wanted Mac to be happy... and this stood a good chance of doing that if the chemistry between Mac and Adam was anything at all to go by.

Richie looked out across the dance floor in time to see Adam insinuate one long leg between Mac's, bringing the dancers' bodies into constant light contact. He could see the way they moved, so easily in tune with each other, and a blind man could see where they were heading tonight.

Richie stood and grabbed his leather jacket from the back of his chair.

Joe looked up, "You heading off now?"

Richie nodded with a smile, "Yeah, Maria's on a shoot here and I promised her I'd pick her up early tomorrow - and if I don't get some sleep soon I'll never make it."

Joe smiled and nodded, "Merry Christmas, Richie."

"Merry Christmas, Joe," Richie nodded his head towards the almost empty dance floor and the two Immortals there. "Say bye to the guys for me will you?"

Joe cast a glance in the same direction, "Will do, but I doubt they'll notice."

Richie laughed and gave a final wave as he headed for the door.

Joe returned his gaze to the dancers; they did move well, the pair of them. There was nothing too overt in their movements, but they exuded a subtle eroticism. Sometimes Joe hated his job, watching and recording who killed who, at times like this though watching was a pleasure, even if he would never record it, at least not officially anyway. He shook his head and returned his attention to the bar; there weren't that many people left now and it was time to start closing up.

*****

The last chords of the song faded and died and the lights came up. Duncan reluctantly took his eyes from his partner's face and glanced around the bar, surprised to see it virtually empty. They couldn't have been dancing that long surely.

"I think Joe's trying to tell us something," Methos' voice was comfortably close to his ear and Duncan turned back to his hopefully soon-to-be lover's face and smiled. Methos' pale skin was flushed lightly in a way that had nothing whatsoever to do with the minimal exertion of dancing. Duncan suspected his own face wore a similar colour; the urgent arousal he had felt earlier had eased as the dance had continued, exchanged without loss for a slowly building anticipation. With the end of the dance and the loss of that lithe body against him, his arousal surged again as if to remind him of his priorities.

"I think you're right," Duncan grinned, "Care to join me for a night-cap?"

Methos grinned, a lazy grin full of promise, "You know, I think I just might."

Duncan gestured grandly towards their table and their coats and the two Immortals gathered up their belongings.

"Goodnight Joe," they chorused in unison to the Watcher behind the bar, who grinned tolerantly in return.

"'Night guys," Joe replied and their nod to formality complete, Duncan and Methos made their way to the door with perhaps just a little more speed than usual.

"Hey, Mac!" Joe called as they were almost there and both Immortals turned in response. "Aren't you forgetting something?" Joe tossed something small and white their way and the Highlander caught it with a laugh. Mistletoe.

Duncan looked at his Watcher; he supposed he did owe the man something since he appeared to have been right. He looked at Methos, but the old man seemed much too relaxed and amused to take offence at this. Still... Duncan held out his hand to Methos who narrowed his eyes and glanced from Duncan to Joe and back again.

"Why do I get the feeling this was a setup?" the ancient Immortal asked of no-one in particular.

Duncan let out the breath he'd been holding, momentarily dreading Methos balking, and smiled sweetly. "Because you're paranoid?" he offered.

Methos pulled a face, "Doesn’t mean they’re not out to get you," he retorted

Duncan grinned, acknowledging the point and glad to see the old Immortal was willing to play along. He flexed his hand, renewing his offer.

Methos' smile turned mischievous in the moment before he took Duncan's hand and that was all the warning the Highlander got. A sharp tug caught him off-balance and before he quite knew what was happening he was spun into a pair of surprisingly strong arms and dipped back. Methos leaned over him, hazel eyes twinkling with great amusement, and then he captured the mouth that hung open mid-gasp.

Oh.

My.

God.

Methos was kissing him. He was being kissed by _Methos_. Not the tentative, half-embarrassed touch of lips that he'd expected when he made the offer; this kiss was strong, confident and unbelievably arousing. Methos' tongue slipped between lips that parted in invitation and proceeded to make itself at home, utterly assured of its welcome. Much like Methos himself: moving into Mac's home, his life, and ultimately his heart, with an ease that defied belief. The arousal that had been steadily simmering all evening reached boiling point with alarming speed and all coherent thought evaporated under its intense heat.

Eventually Duncan realised Methos was pulling away and he struggled to recapture that clever mouth. He was Immortal, damn it! He didn’t need air!

Duncan opened eyes he didn't remember closing to see Methos' face mere inches from his own, hazel eyes bright with amusement, affection and, unless he was much mistaken, arousal. His arms were wrapped around the old Immortal's neck, mistletoe still clutched tightly in one fist. For one hopeful moment he almost thought Methos was going to kiss him again and he felt renewed heat rush through his body to his already aching groin. But instead Methos merely raised his head and grinned up at the surprised but smiling Watcher, "Happy now?" Then he hauled Duncan upright, wrapping a steadying arm around the Highlander's waist when he proved a touch unsteady on his feet.

"Time to go, Mac?" he inquired.

Duncan was intensely aware of the heat Methos radiated even through the layers of clothing that separated them. He leaned a little closer to Methos and spoke in a rather hoarse whisper, "Definitely, but I don't think I can walk."

Methos turned to him with another grin, but it was the glitter of uncomplicated delight in those hazel eyes that made Duncan really, really wish they didn't have an audience, minimal as it was.

"I could carry you," Methos offered with a smirk, but the arm wrapped around Duncan's waist gave a gentle squeeze.

Duncan chuckled, not a little embarrassed by how much the idea actually appealed to him, "You are a mean old man, Adam."

Methos' smirk broadened, impossible as it seemed, "Yeah, but you love me anyway."

Somehow it didn't come out quite as flippantly as Duncan thought it had probably been supposed to. He caught hold of Methos' free hand and brought it to his lips for a light kiss. "Yeah, I do," he said quietly.

Methos' eyes widened as he met Duncan's and for that one moment he looked far more vulnerable than a 5,000 year old man had any right to be. Then the look was gone and the Methos he knew was back, but the moment stretched on. Methos still hadn't broken eye contact with Duncan when he finally spoke, "Bye Joe."

Duncan only distantly heard Joe's "Merry Christmas you two!" as he was dragged out the door.

*****

The chill night air of the car park cooled Duncan's arousal to more tolerable levels or at least to the point where he was moderately sure he'd be able to drive. He glanced around as he walked toward his car, Methos at his side. He couldn't see Methos' car anywhere, but then he lived so close to the bar it was probably quicker to walk. They hadn't spoken, but Methos was keeping pace with him as they walked. Duncan was almost afraid to ask whether Methos was actually planning on coming back to barge with him or if he was just seeing him off, in case whatever he said changed the apparent intent. He unlocked the passenger door anyway and opened it and found himself casting a fervent thanks to the stars when Methos smiled slightly and got in.

The car seemed strangely quiet as Duncan drove back to the barge. He cast a quick glance Methos' way, but Methos didn't appear to be paying attention, just staring out the window at the streetlights flashing past in regular orange blurs. A bit of drunken silliness and a casual fling was one thing, but with a few simple words Duncan had apparently changed the whole tenor of the evening for the eldest Immortal and the change was not something Duncan was sure Methos wanted after Alexa. He could try to persuade him otherwise, but there was only so much he could do, the rest was dependent entirely on the Ancient.

"I can't believe you did that to me," Duncan muttered hoping to draw the old Immortal from his thoughts.

Methos chuckled, the friendly, cheerful mask he had been wearing all night slipping effortlessly into place again. "Serves you right. Your reputation could do with a few dents - adds character."

Duncan shook his head tolerantly, hearing something contrary beneath the light tone. "Methos," he waited until his friend turned to look at him before he continued. "You do know I wouldn't do that to you, don't you?"

Methos' expression was puzzled as Duncan returned his attention to the empty roads. "Do what, Mac?" Methos' tone suggested he had an idea though.

Duncan brought the car to a halt by the barge and turned to his friend, "Ruin your reputation."

Methos' expression was masked by the sodium glare and shadows. "Reputation isn't something that I've been concerned with for a very long time, MacLeod." Duncan opened his mouth to correct the misunderstanding, but a raised hand stopped him before he could speak. "But I know what you meant, Duncan," the voice was soft and quiet in the confines of the car and the upraised hand moved to trace gentle fingertips over Duncan's cheek. "And I _do_ know. Thank you."

Duncan found it hard to speak with so much meaning echoing in the small space between them, "For what?"

Methos chuckled and this time the good humour seemed entirely genuine, "For being someone I can trust."

Duncan had no reply to that, but the smile that formed unbidden on his lips seemed to please Methos, whose own smile deepened even if it did seem a trifle abashed.

"Now, are we going to move this inside because I really don't think there's enough space in here," Methos trailed his eyes over Duncan and then deliberately glanced into the back of the car, chuckling when Duncan turned swiftly, fumbling in his haste to get the door open.

*****

Inside the barge with the fire lit and a cup of coffee warming hands and insides, Duncan felt at a loss once again. Directionless anticipation coiled within him and he couldn't for the life of him think how to move things along. If Methos had been a woman it would have been easy, he had centuries of experience to fall back on; with men Duncan was not so well-versed, but this was something very different than either, this was Methos.

Duncan was used to planned seductions and no stranger to spontaneity, but somehow he couldn't seem to find his balance in the middle-ground that this evening seemed to inhabit. When they were together there was chemistry and when they had danced everything had just followed naturally, but when they were apart it was so difficult to find that momentum again.

Duncan crouched down and poked half-heartedly at the fire. He'd wanted Methos for so long that now it seemed almost unreal. A fractured soap-bubble reality, so beautiful and yet so fragile he was afraid to reach for it lest it shatter. At the same time he was aware of Methos, sitting not three metres away and he knew he hadn't imagined the events of the evening. Whatever this was, it wasn't one-sided.

The sound of movement stirred Duncan from his thoughts as Methos got up from the couch and crossed the barge, leaving his half-empty coffee cup steaming quietly on the table. Duncan was vaguely surprised when Methos dropped down to crouch next to him by the fire. Methos didn't look at him, just stared into the fire and Duncan did the same. It was somehow easier to talk if they didn't look at each other.

"Second thoughts?" Methos' voice was soft and without inflection.

Duncan forcibly restrained himself from looking up then to try and find some guidelines in his friend's expression. "You or me?"

Silence.

"No, I'm not having second thoughts. I think the time for those passed long ago," Duncan admitted ruefully.

Methos didn't move, but Duncan could feel his surprise. "What about you?" he asked quietly.

Methos paused, "Same." His voice was very quiet.

Duncan smiled, finding unexpected confidence in Methos' reticence. He'd been reading this wrong, it wasn't the situation that was fragile - it was Methos. Well, not fragile, but cautious, wary. After so recent a loss, it was a reluctance to expose that vulnerability again so soon. He could understand that.

Duncan turned to Methos, studying his friend's profile, and contrary to his expectations Methos remained still under the scrutiny, as though patiently determined to accept whatever Duncan had in mind. That wasn't quite what Duncan wanted though, he wanted to coax a genuine smile to Methos' face with a kiss or a touch. He didn't want to make love to a mask and without Methos' willing that was all it would be. Duncan could offer his friendship, his love, himself, but Methos had to reach out and take them. That his friend was here gave him hope that perhaps Methos was just waiting for the offer.

Duncan reached for the slender hands cradling them between his own, warming them until Methos finally turned to meet his eyes. The angular face was lit in sunset colours by the fire, but they didn't seem to impart enough warmth to the drawn features that for once revealed the extent of the hurt Methos had felt when Alexa had died. Duncan smiled in what he hoped was a reassuring manner and slowly pulled Methos to his feet. Without words he led the eldest Immortal the length of the barge to the bed. Strange that thinking of Methos' age no longer bothered him, as though he had finally accepted what Joe had been trying to tell him - age made no difference, the feelings were still the same.

By the side of the bed, Duncan finally released Methos' hands and stepped closer, his fingers moving to the buttons of Methos' shirt. The Ancient accepted Duncan's actions without comment; Duncan wasn't sure whether that was a good sign or a bad one, but he continued anyway.

The second button came free and Methos' hands came up to wrap around Duncan's and halt his progress. "Duncan?" Methos' voice was quiet and strangely wistful.

Duncan looked up to see that familiar pale face, the shadow of loss and a glimmer of something else? "Yeah?"

"Did you really mean it? What you said in the bar?" So quiet that voice.

Duncan stepped closer and lightly kissed the hands that trapped his own. "Yeah, Methos, I meant it," he whispered softly, "I still do." A fragile smile surfaced, so unlike the cheerful grins he'd seen earlier that he had to return it.

Then Methos' smile strengthened, broadened, and Duncan found his lips curving in pleasure at the sight. He was leaning forward before he realised what he was doing. The kiss was soft and hesitant at first, not at all like the one at the bar, but it had perhaps more genuine feeling behind it. After a moment though, Methos opened to Duncan's coaxing and began to respond with an increasing passion that Duncan gratefully accepted and matched.

When he felt Methos' hands release his to slide down his arms and up under the hem of his sweater, Duncan smiled against Methos' lips and broke the kiss. The change that had been wrought in the old Immortal was subtle and dramatic at the same time. In the pale light seeping through the portholes, he seemed almost luminous, his expression softer than Duncan could ever remember seeing.

"You're so beautiful..." Duncan murmured and to his surprise and delight the Ancient actually blushed.

"Yes, well..." Methos was charmingly flustered.

Duncan raised a hand to touch Methos' face, halting the stumbling words, and felt his heart flop over in his chest when the ancient Immortal closed his eyes and leaned into the touch.

"I can't imagine that no-one's ever told you that before," Duncan said.

Methos' eyes opened, a peculiar honesty in their regard, "They have, but when you say it I know you mean it."

Duncan kissed him again, having no other response to that little bit of truth. Methos opened to him immediately this time, inviting him in and when they finally broke apart breathless, Duncan was very aware of Methos' hands resting warm against the bare skin of his waist where they had neatly bypassed his sweater. The silk beneath his fingers was body-warmed, but not what he wanted to be feeling right now. He plucked at the material and grinned, "So can I finish undressing you now?"

Methos chuckled, a pleasantly free sound, and spread his arms in invitation, "Be my guest - so long as I get to return the favour."

Duncan's grin broadened as he attacked the small buttons with a will, "Absolutely. In fact, I'm counting on it."

Clothes scattered like a summer shower, heedless of the wintry conditions outside. As the last barrier was discarded, Duncan felt his breath catch in his throat. He'd always suspected that Methos was not so slight as Adam made him out to be, but seeing it was something else. His eyes followed the ripple and slide of muscle beneath smooth skin as Methos shifted under his stare. Long and lean, Methos' body was so different from his own; despite being fundamentally the same, the only similarities were in height and the breadth of shoulder. Methos moved again and Duncan dragged his eyes from his avid appraisal to meet eyes dark with arousal and a lingering uncertainty. He had to put a stop to that.

Duncan smiled, knowing his appreciation of the view must be written across his face. "Would it embarrass you if I told you I've been in love with you since I first saw you sitting on the floor of your apartment?"

Methos blushed, but his smile was warm and Duncan watched, pleased, as the uncertainty faded from sight. "Apparently."

Duncan stepped in close to Methos, who closed the minimal gap left . Duncan felt the heat rise dramatically at the feel of skin against skin and when their erections slid against each other, he began to fear there was a very real possibility of spontaneous combustion. He wrapped his arms loosely around Methos' waist and whispered softly into the nearest ear, "Are you sure about this?" It was probably a bit late in the day to ask, but better now than before it became too late.

A small shudder rippled through the long body and Duncan wondered if it had been a mistake to ask. "Not really, no," Methos sighed, but when Duncan would have pulled away he tightened his arms. "I'm not sure about anything anymore," he explained. "But if _you're_ sure..."

Duncan found himself holding his breath.

"Duncan, I trust you," it was so simply said, his heart's desire dropped into his hands without a struggle, he almost couldn't believe it. But Methos' expression was serious, patient, awaiting Duncan's decision. It was all up to Duncan; Methos trusted him, not to take his head, not to betray his identity, and not to break his already-hurting heart. Duncan found he couldn't turn away from that simple trust; he'd wanted to offer Methos comfort after Alexa's death and hoped that maybe it could develop into something more as time passed. Instead Methos had turned it all around and offered him everything with such aching simplicity, it left him wondering how the Ancient could still do that after so many years.

"Methos?" Duncan waited until Methos met his eyes before asking, "Are you in love with me?"

The rueful smile was answer in itself, "I have been for quite a while now, I'm afraid."

"Why didn't you say something?" Duncan demanded, surprised.

Methos shrugged, "Why didn't _you_ say something?"

Duncan opened his mouth to protest and then began to chuckle instead. It seemed he didn't have the monopoly on insecurity, he could easily recall Methos' apprehension about asking Alexa out. When the chuckles died away he found Methos watching him with curious eyes. Rather than explain his laughter Duncan decided they'd wasted enough time already and leaned in for another kiss. Only three kisses they'd shared and already Duncan was sure he was addicted to the taste of the mouth that opened under his.

They stood there by the bed, naked and aroused, kissing with a determination that excluded all other considerations. Duncan felt Methos' hands begin to wander, stroking across his back and down to his waist. A little shift and then their cocks were sliding together with a tantalising lack of haste. Duncan could feel his heat rising and let his own hands slip around the old Immortal's waist and then lower to cup his ass and pull him closer still.

Methos broke the kiss to gasp in air as the temperature seemed to skyrocket with the increase in friction. Unable to resist the temptation, Duncan began to kiss the vulnerable throat exposed to him, his body showing a sincere appreciation when Methos began to squirm against him under the stimulation. Duncan took a step back to balance himself and found there wasn't a step to take. He toppled backwards onto the bed, pulling the ancient Immortal down with him.

Methos was chuckling as he landed on top of the slightly winded Highlander and Duncan grinned at the genuine happiness in that expression. Then Methos was kissing him again, deep and slow, as he shifted against Duncan. It reminded him of the dance they had shared, sensuous and slow, and he realised his wish had been granted. They were still dancing, but without clothing and horizontal.

This time it was Duncan who was forced to break the kiss for fear of ending it all far too soon. With a smile for his lover, he flipped them both over, bracing his arms on either side of the old Immortal; Duncan finally had him pinned and could lavish Methos with all the kisses he had stored for just this occasion. Methos turned into them the way a flower turns toward the sun, absorbing the affection and returning it in kind, encouraging Duncan with hands and mouth and body.

He'd wanted the ancient Immortal for so long, but he'd never imagined what a responsive, erotic creature Methos could be. Duncan swallowed the tiny sounds Methos made, but it only succeeded in stoking his hunger higher. Eventually even that talented mouth was insufficient to stave off the desire Duncan felt for more of his enigmatic lover. He began to move downwards, tasting Methos' sweat-damp skin along the way, unwilling to be deprived of its unique flavour for long.

Long fingers tangled in his hair when he began to treat the tight nubs of Methos' nipples to the wet warmth of his mouth. The low whimpers that reached his ears brought Duncan back from his feasting to the realisation that, much as he might want to, Methos wasn't really in any state for extended teasing. Reluctantly he resumed his journey southward, reminding himself that if this went well he'd have plenty of opportunity to make up for it later.

The fingers remained in his hair, kneading his scalp like a happy cat, as he ventured lower until he reached Methos' straining cock. Softly he blew warm air over it, seeing it twitch in response and hearing Methos' breathless moan. Duncan resolved to make this as good as he could, it was the only way he could think of right now to reassure Methos that his trust was not misplaced.

Slowly he brushed his lips up the length of the straining shaft before wrapping them around the head. Methos' groan was all the encouragement he needed to take more and he sank down, swallowing as he took the full length into his throat. Then, ever so slowly, he drew back up the length with a gentle suction that made Methos' grip tighten almost painfully.

Duncan slid off Methos' cock and looked up to find a pair of dark eyes looking back at him with such a mixture of love and lust it almost undid him completely. Unable to hold that intense gaze for long Duncan returned his attention to the begging erection before him. His tongue traced lazy patterns over its length and he distantly heard the soft thump as Methos' head hit the pillows. Determined not to make his lover want for anything, Duncan once again took the momentarily neglected shaft into his mouth. This time he worked without interruption, slowly and steadily moving Methos towards that place of forgetful pleasure. No more teasing, just loving. The small sounds that escaped the old Immortal's lips fed his hunger and intensified it at the same time and Duncan let his hands wander, gentling Methos' increasingly urgent shifting.

He felt it the moment Methos let go and placed himself entirely in his lover's hands. A moment later Duncan was swallowing around the engorged shaft as Methos twisted in his arms and came in his mouth. Duncan savoured the moment as he had few others.

Then the hands that had buried themselves in his hair were moving to his shoulders, tugging him up. Duncan regretted the loss of Methos' cock from his mouth as he relinquished that connection, but it was a regret soon forgotten. Methos' eyes were dark and deep with too many emotions for Duncan to name, but the foremost was love. Methos' hands resumed their hold in Duncan's hair as he pulled him down for a tender kiss, sharing the taste of himself.

The moment had extended beyond the concept of time before they finally parted. At Methos' urging, Duncan pressed closer to the old Immortal as they wrapped each other in strong arms that defied any thought of separation.

Duncan sighed quietly as he breathed in the unique scent of the ancient Immortal. This was so perfect. Just what he had wanted. The closeness he felt to Methos was so much more than merely physical because right now he was *sure*, with a conviction that went beyond certainty, that Methos was happy, that he was content, and that it was Duncan and Duncan alone that had made him so. He'd wanted to help Methos forget the pain of his loss and maybe help him find some measure of happiness; it seemed he had succeeded on both counts and Duncan was more than grateful that he had been granted the opportunity to try.

There was a soft sigh against the skin of his throat and Methos shifted slightly against him. Duncan wondered if the old Immortal were falling asleep, he had certainly looked in need of it over the last few weeks. Instead a hand crept over his stomach and moved unerringly to his neglected erection. Duncan drew in a sharp breath as long fingers wrapped around his shaft and gently stroked over its length. He twisted his head to find Methos watching him, "Your turn, Duncan."

Duncan trailed his fingertips over the high cheekbones and then slid them back into the unexpectedly soft spikes of hair. "You don't have to."

Methos' smile was soft, "I know - I want to."

Slender fingers pressed gently against Duncan's lips forestalling him, as Methos anticipated his next words. "I'm sure _now_." The fingers were replaced with a determined mouth and Duncan surrendered to his lover's demand, it wasn't like it wasn't something he wanted.

Long minutes passed as Duncan luxuriated in the feel of Methos' mouth on his and Methos' hand on his cock. Then Methos was rolling onto his back and pulling Duncan over him, his legs parting to accommodate his lover in an unspoken request. Duncan reached for the bedside table and snagged the bottle of oil that sat by the stack of half-read books. Methos' eyes followed the movement and when Duncan's eyes drifted back to his lover's face he could see the flush of arousal and anticipation.

When he tried to open the bottle Duncan was surprised to find that his hands were shaking, then slender fingers wrapped around his, steadying them. He looked up, rather embarrassed that his nerves were so obvious, but Methos' expression showed nothing but patient tenderness. Duncan took a deep breath and offered his lover a rueful smile that Methos returned with one of understanding. This time the top came off the bottle easily and he was able to pour a small amount of oil into his hands without fear of spilling it all over the place.

Methos raised his hips and Duncan stuffed a pillow beneath him for comfort, it had been a _very_ long time since he'd last done this and he desperately wanted it to be good. He was conscious of Methos' eyes on him as he shuffled forward on his knees; he wrapped his oil slicked hands around Methos' growing erection and stroked it a couple of times, smiling when Methos' eyes closed and he pressed his head back into the pillows. Before the stimulation became too much though, Duncan released his grip. He carefully slid one hand lower while the other moved up onto Methos' flat stomach. Briefly he fondled the velvet pouch of Methos' balls before moving lower still, while his left hand lightly stroked across the smooth muscle of Methos' abdomen. With a sly grin Duncan let his fingers play over the shallow navel, circling slickly, and dipping in occasionally. Methos writhed under Duncan's touch and then gasped as Duncan's right hand began to mimic the actions of the left, massaging the tight ring muscle and pressing lightly against it, not quite demanding entrance yet. And then it was; one slick finger easing inside, stretching and soothing simultaneously, impossible contradictory sensations. Methos' movements became more urgent, though it was obvious he was trying to restrain them. Duncan added a second finger and then a third, trying hard not to think about what he was doing or notice Methos' reactions for fear of coming too soon.

Then he was ready and Duncan leaned forward, one hand guiding his aching cock exactly where it wanted to be. There was only the faintest resistance and then he was engulfed in the most incredible tight heat. He didn't remember it ever being like this - so good. Duncan's eyes slipped closed as he pressed himself fully into Methos' body, mingled sounds of pleasure and exquisite sensation were the entire scope of his consciousness.

Feather-light touches brushing his hair out of his eyes, trailing softly over his too-hot face, brought Duncan back to himself and his lover. Methos' eyes were warm with affection and Duncan felt he should say something, say what this meant to him, but the words wouldn't come, there weren't the words to express what he felt. Instead he claimed Methos' mouth in a slow kiss that denied the lust coiling insistently through his body. Methos' arms wrapped around his back and then slipped down to pull Duncan more firmly into him, urging him to move. Duncan didn't need the prompting, his body was already overruling his brain in so far as the pursuit of pleasure was concerned. He'd wanted this for so long that now he knew Methos returned the feeling, it felt like no power on earth could prevent him from taking all that was offered.

Strangely, the strength of the feeling involved translated into an easy rhythm, as if they had been together for years. Duncan drank in the small sounds Methos' made, unwilling to let any of this pleasure escape. He could feel Methos' cock trapped between their bellies, smearing them with the evidence of his renewed arousal. Duncan's own cock felt as though it would explode at any moment and he struggled not to give in just yet, wanting to appreciate it for just a moment longer. Despite his best intentions though, his body had other ideas and he was helpless under the sudden onslaught of a need that wouldn't be denied. His thrusts became desperate and erratic as he was picked up and swept along on the feelings he had held for so long. Wet heat across his stomach registered dimly in his ecstasy-hazed mind as the last of his orgasm finished out; breathless, Duncan lowered himself onto his lover and held him close.

Laboured breathing sounded loud in the stillness of the barge, but it was the soothing motion of fingers stroking through his tangled hair that brought Duncan back to his surroundings. With an enormous effort he raised his head to meet Methos' eyes and abruptly reality asserted itself. Carefully he levered himself off Methos, groaning as he slipped free of the warm embrace. With gentle fingers he traced the damp trails that glistened over the high cheekbones. "Methos?" he queried softly, afraid of what it might mean.

There was a half-choked sound that could have been a laugh or a sob and Methos opened tear-fresh green eyes to meet Duncan's worried gaze. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words wouldn't come and Duncan became increasingly concerned, but Methos shook his head, silently asking for time to get it under control. The fingers still buried in his hair tightened for a moment and Duncan was pulled back down into a soft kiss, when he was released Duncan looked at his lover, slightly startled.

"Methos?"

There was a sniff then, "Yeah, Duncan. I'm okay, don’t worry."

When Duncan failed to look convinced, a smile was summoned, but it was a pale imitation of Methos' usual grins. For some reason it seemed all of his usual masks were beyond his reach; perhaps these last few weeks had probably fulfilled his quota of emotional vulnerability for the millennium, Duncan thought wryly.

"I didn't mean to hurt you," Duncan spoke hesitantly.

Now Methos' smile seemed to gain strength from somewhere, "You didn't." The tones were warm with affection and Duncan was visibly relieved. "I just... This wasn't what I expected."

"Do you mean that in a good way or a bad way?" Duncan couldn't believe the flip tone of his voice, but it was a genuine question. And at least Methos didn't seem to take it amiss.

"Oh, a good way, definitely." It was slow, but Duncan could see Methos regaining his self-assurance and that was as comforting as the words themselves. It was even more comforting when Methos pulled him close, moulding himself to Duncan's body, quite ignoring the state they were in, with the obvious intent of catching up on his sleep. Duncan decided he could put up with the mess for the sake of the moment, he was feeling pretty tired himself and the drowsy warmth of his lover was lulling him to sleep.

"Thank you, Duncan." The words drifted softly in the darkness of the room and he found himself smiling at the sleepy voice that nevertheless held a note of sincerity.

"You're very welcome," he whispered back, not entirely surprised when the only response he heard was a quiet sigh as the old Immortal succumbed to sleep. Duncan wrapped his arms around the slender form and just held him close, "Merry Christmas, Methos."

 

FIN


	2. Epilogue

“ _What_ Is this?” Methos demanded, voice uncharacteristically hard and, Duncan imagined, not a little how Death on a Horse must have sounded so very long ago.

Duncan glanced over from where he was stirring the pasta sauce and froze. Shit. He’d meant to put that away, but Richie had called and he’d just shoved it under some papers instead. Now Methos was flicking through the small, spiral bound notebook with an expression somewhere between horror, disgust and sheer disbelief. Methos looked up, green eyes hard, and Duncan found the words just stuck in his throat.

Methos closed the book with a snap, never taking his eyes from Duncan’s. “If,” Methos began, each syllable bitten off, “you are ever going to write such nauseatingly saccharine fantasies down, Duncan, you are not – NOT – to use my name in them.”

Duncan watched mutely as Methos tossed the book at Duncan, who caught it in reflex, but dropped his spoon in the process and spattered tomato sauce all over the clean counter. Methos could rattle off pages in less than an hour, but Duncan had sweated blood to write even 10,000 words and the recollection of the effort it had taken released his voice. “Fine, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have written your name down,” he admitted, “But you’re always telling me I should try to expand my interests.”

Methos rolled his eyes, ire dissipating steadily in the wake of Duncan’s sincere apology, “I know. It just hadn’t occurred to me you’d start with writing bad porn. I mean really, Duncan? If you’d made it Adam for real, it would at least have been a little more believable.”

Duncan shrugged, “Sorry,” he repeated, “I guess I got a bit carried away.”

Methos eyed him askance, “Just tell me that wasn’t actually one of your fantasies.”

Duncan wished he had Methos’ self-control because the blush that rose to his face surely gave him away if Methos’ horrified expression was anything to go by.

“Seriously?” Methos demanded incredulously. He took a step back as if bracing himself, “You see yourself as a part-romantic hero, part-teenage girl, long hair included, and me as some kind of lost and fragile waif? Seriously?” He repeated as if he couldn’t quite wrap his head around the concept. “Well, I suppose I should at least be happy you didn’t resort to ‘alabaster skin’ or ‘manly’ anything,” he muttered resignedly.

Duncan ducked his head and stirred the pasta sauce furiously. “Give me some credit,” he protested, “It started off so well and I thought, well… it just came out that way.” Duncan shook his head; he really wasn’t a teenage girl, whatever Methos might claim. He honestly hadn’t thought it was that bad at the time, in fact he was still kind of proud of the first part, but the sex scene… yeah – just no. “It’s not that easy to write sex, you know, I’d like to see you try and do better,” he challenged, irritated at himself as much as by Methos. 

It took a moment for the sudden silence to penetrate Duncan’s sulk, but when it did, he looked up. Methos was looking at him appraisingly, but there was a smug curl to his lips and when Duncan met his eyes, Methos grinned. 

Duncan wasn’t sure what to think when Methos retrieved his laptop and after some rapidfire typing, placed it on the counter so Duncan could see the screen.

http://community.livejournal.com/hlh_shortcuts/

Duncan glanced up at Methos and then back down at the screen. Well, fuck.

FIN

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Highlander Secret Santa 2010


End file.
